Midnight
by PanoramicPisces
Summary: What happens when Hermione disappears, along with her parents? What happens when Ron Weasley wakes up with a mysterious sword beside his bed, where Hermione usually sleeps? What happens when there is a town, cursed with a secret so terrible they'd rather trap all that visit in their hell instead of burning it all to the ground?
1. The Sword

**Midnight**

By _**PanoramicPisces**_

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Harry Potter, the only thing I own is this original story using the characters of J.K Rowling.

Timeline: Post Second War, somewhere in between before Hermione returns to Hogwarts for her seventh year.

A/N: I think this will be a three-part story, but I'm still not sure, future will tell.

* * *

**Part One: The Sword**

Ron twisted with a soft grunt, feeling the bundled sheets press into his back. He outstretched his hand, hoping to feel the softness of Hermione Granger waiting for his touch, but there was no skin waiting for him, or cotton pajamas to be felt, or even a presence at all.

Only metal.

It took Ron a second to register this in mid-sleep, his fingers grazing over something hard and cold, not quite sharp.

Not yet, at least.

He opened his eyes an inch, feeling the wrongness seep into his sleepiness and rouse him. The window beside the bed was streaming in unwanted sunlight, the curtains billowing only slightly to accommodate the late-summer breeze.

And, on the pillow that should have rested the head of Hermione, lay only a narrow, deadly sharp weapon. A sword.

"Bloody —" Ron flinched away, flinging the covers off his body. He kicked away the remaining fabric that stuck to his pants leg, and gawked at the sword.

His first thought was_ Sword of Gryffindor,_ but no, that wasn't right. It wasn't anything like that. It was… different.

The hilt of this sword was a dark purple, narrower when it got to the gorgeous silver. The tip was razor sharp, and it… called to him — Ron — a calling that Ron himself wanted to abolish immediately, yet not knowing quite how.

_Hermione__…_ Hermione!

The events of the previous night came flooding back to Ron, into him, around him like a cold bucket of water being poured onto his head.

Town… midnight… be home late…

The exhaustion must have gotten to him, because Ron remembered specifically how he promised not to sleep into she was home. That was how it was now, since the war had ended and society in the wizarding world was finally being restored back to its original, all-around wonderfulness.

But… it had only been a couple weeks, and everyone was still, admittedly, paranoid.

_What if he came back?_ — was the sayings of some. What if Potter hadn't_ really _— was the whispering of others. Ron pretended not to notice, or care, and Harry himself had assured him that Voldemort was gone, forever.

But… still… that didn't stop the dreams.

Awful, horrible dreams of war beginning again, Voldemort's return, and they hit no one like they did Harry.

They — the three of them — had decided to live together (why not? They felt safer together, anyway). It wasn't Grimmauld Place (too depressing, too many memories despite Harry's ownership of it), it was something they had decided to search for and get together. Beside the room Ron and Hermione shared together was the library on the right, where Hermione spent a great amount of time (naturally).

But last night, she had been gone longer than usual, and Ron had decided to lie up in wait for her.

Panic rose inside of Ron as he, hesitantly, gripped the hilt of the sword, watching the reflection of himself rise in the silver of it.

"Harry!" Ron called, trying to swallow the anxiety that threatened to grab hold of him. "Get in here! Now!"

Hermione had been late last night.

And she was _never_ late.

* * *

"It was just there," Ron said, pacing back and forth in the living room.

"Ron, give it a rest!" Harry said, coming to grab his friend and hold him in place. "This is Hermione we're talking about, she's probably fine, let's just —"

"No!" Ron said, tearing himself out of Harry's grasp. "Listen, okay — no! Listen!" Ron said when Harry showed signs of interruption. "Hermione knows that things are still really dark right now, even with Voldemort gone, okay? She wouldn't do this, not intentionally; she wouldn't want to worry us — me — like this —"

"Don't do that," Harry said, glaring. "Don't make it sound like I don't care, because of course I do!"

"Then why aren't you pacing with me?"

"Because Hermione can take care of herself! We've seen what she can do and what she's capable of! Where have you been these last couple of years, mate?"

"It's not about that…" Ron said, backing away.

The sword was still in his grip, clenched in his sweaty grip. Ron had no idea what it was, but he couldn't let it go.

Harry was giving him the most skeptical look on the planet and it brought heat and anger to Ron's face. He held up the sword in Harry's face and said, "What about this, All-Knowing Chosen One? How d'you explain —" he shoved it closer in Harry's face — "this."

"I'll admit, it's weird, okay?" Harry said, easing the sword away from his face. This close, Ron could see the fainted scar on his forehead, paining his friend no more but still perfectly visible, a forever tribute to the hard life he had lived, and Ron backed off a bit. "But it's not enough to make me think —"

Ron narrowed his eyes. "Oh, right, mate, because all the crazy stuff only happens to you."

"I'm not saying that —"

"You know what?" Ron said, easing the sword down. "Think whatever you want, I'm finding my girlfriend."

And before Harry could place another word in the space between, them Ron had disappeared, leaving nothing but the heated air.

* * *

The town of Carlisle, it was called, and it sat at what could have been the edges of the earth.

The light seemed to be swallowed by a much more imposing darkness here, almost like natural selection had taken its time and the darkness won out. Silence, too, played a big part in this town as well. It brought shivers to Hermione's already deathly cold skin.

Where were the women and children out in the day? Where were the dogs barking, people selling their moderately useful things?

Where was the noise?

Where was the_ life? _

These had been Hermione's thoughts when she first arrived. It seemed… okay enough, to begin with, though she still had no idea why her parents would have come here, alone, by themselves, in a place that was clearly magical, and not doing much to hide that fact.

Not that they were supposed to know about the magic at all, but Hermione's parents were smarter than most; they could figure out when they had crossed into the other part of the world, the world of witches and wizards and magic, when they had… crossed over, for lack of a better phrase.

But still, why?

Hermione's thoughts had begun to run away with her; what if they were in debt to someone? What if… no, they were just dentists. Two, incredibly smart and wise dentists, excellent in their craft, they would wouldn't be in trouble with the law.

But there were still no pieces that Hermione could place together. Why here? In the day, it was okay, nothing really out of the ordinary for a half-magical, half-muggle town, but… there was something… terribly wrong.

Not Voldemort wrong, nothing that severe, but… a deep set wrong that Hermione couldn't place, and wanted nothing to do with.

These had all been Hermione's thoughts before. Before she had found her parents, before she had discovered what was wrong — oh, so horribly wrong, so awful — before she had given into the darkness, captured trying to flee.

Before midnight.


	2. A Town Cursed By It

**A/N**: I'm so happy with the reviews I've gotten so far, and I'm glad that I've piqued the interest of so many so fast! I want you all to know how grateful I am, and in my gratitude, here's a very eventful (and much longer) chapter! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer**: Still don't own Harry Potter, otherwise this would have been a companion novella or something.

* * *

**Part Two: A Town Cursed By ****"It"**

_Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world and the pronounced Chosen One, has still not given comment on his defeat of the Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort. Could there be a more sinister insight on Mr. Potter__'s quiet than just re-corporation? _

_I hate tried to get in touch with some of Mr. Potter__'s old schoolmates and fellow members of the school alliance, Dumbledore's Army. I first went to fellow and ex-class member, Dean Thomas, who had this to say: _

"_Get out of my face or I'll hex you to the moon, nasty wretch." _

_Hex me, he says? Could he have been taught hexes by his ex-girlfriend and Mr. Potter__'s new girlfriend, Ginerva Weasley? Or is Mr. Thomas's refusal to speak go deeper? Could he still be healing from wounds of having the Chosen One steal his girlfriend from him? Or does Ms. Weasley have some explaining to do on the (so I hear) short and very muddled time she spent jumping from one boyfriend to the next? _

_Needless to say, Mr. Potter__'s silence has jarred the minds of many. The public has given him the benefit of the doubt for weeks, but still nothing on Potter's side or his friends. I also went to other fellow Dumbledore's Army member and classmate, Neville Longbottom, who was also runner-up, I understand, for the now (or not?) fulfilled Chosen One prophecy. Unfortunately I had no chance to really discuss things with the poor boy, due to his grandmother, rustler Mrs Augusta Longbottom, yelling for me to leave her yard and threatening also to, as I recall, "jinx me for a thousand years, into the grave and back." _

_It__'s no mystery that Mr. Longbottom must hold some serious grudges and thinly-veiled jealously over not being the Chosen One, and having been demoted to simply killing Lord Voldemort's pet snake, Nagini. Mm, yes, definitely what _I_ would want to be remembered for, thanks a lot, Potter._

_I will leave it for you to decide, witches and wizards. Does this sound like a group who has successfully accomplished their goal of ridding the wizarding world of He-who-we-no-longer-care-who-is-named? Or have tensions risen between the once friendly group? Or__… even more sinister a thought, is the presence of Lord Voldemort still among us? _

_This has been Rita Skeeter, have a good day! (And watch your back, who knows who could be watching. I guess we won__'t until Mr. Potter speaks up.) _

"I'm glad Hermione trapped you in a jar." Ron said, slamming the _Daily Prophet_ down on the table with a hard smack, letting the face of Rita Skeeter be soaked with the condensation that clung to the ends of his glass. "She's encouraging Post-Paranoia, and I thought she had limits."

"Yes, she's quite awful," was the reply of Luna Lovegood, in a spirited and free tone only she could muster at such a time. "I have to admit, I've never paid much attention to her in the past. Poor Neville."

"Poor all of us!" Ron cried, immediately placing his head down to block those attracted to the noise. "When will she stop tormenting us in the news? Merlin, it's only been a couple of weeks! Is it so unrealistic that Harry'd want to take some time to relax? He's been fighting Voldemort since… well, since he's been born, actually!"

Luna Lovegood smiled at him kindly, a slow, creeping smile that might be creepy on someone else, but never her. "I'm sorry I brought it; I didn't have any intentions to rile you up like this."

"No," Ron waved her off, now glaring daggers at the evil blonde's face. "I need to stay informed. Hermione's kind of always done it for me, so…"

There was a sharp silence that took place at the mention of her name. She was still gone. Ron had woken at, he remembered precisely, 9:30 am that morning. It was almost seven.

_Merlin,_ he was worried. The only thing that had temporarily distracted was that disgusting article, which was brought on his request when he had contacted Luna, the only Dumbledore's Army available. He hadn't gone to the Burrow, even though that would have been one of the first places to look, hadn't it? He didn't want to worry anyone, riled anyone up further.

That wasn't a lie, Ron told himself, and it was true… there was another reason why he was avoiding the Burrow.

Fred's death… you could almost touch it in the house.

Ron felt the guilt settle over him like thick honey; he shouldn't stay away, he knew it, but… it was just too much. Why would you want to stay in a place that is determined to make you remember the death — the _absence_ — of someone you absolutely, utterly loved? And he shouldn't have left dad there, to try and coax his mum — sad, so devastated Molly — out of her depression.

Was it so bad that he wanted to remember Fred, for who he was? The happy, joking, teasing brother that he was? Not the cold, dead corpse who's smile would forever to be partnered with empty, lifeless eyes?

"Ron? Are you still there? You haven't been taken by the phantoms, have you?"

Ron snapped out of his thoughts, coming up for air and staring back at Luna. "The what?"

Luna leaned in, and whispered, "the phantoms, Ron. They come and take you when you get lost in memories."

"No, I'm fine," Ron said, waving her off again, and her, eh, theory.

"I feel you've brought me here for something deeply important, Ron," Luna said, sitting back, her eyes boring into his, wide and perturbed. Then she looked around her. "Come to think of it… where is Hermione?"

Cold hands seemed to grasp Ron's heart. "About that… Luna, I need your help."

He explained to Luna the weird occurrences, Hermione's disappearance, without a hint of a letter or a message of any kind to alert him of her whereabouts — her… just goneness. And finally, the sword. The sword that was deep in the his mokeskin bag, almost a complete replica of Harry's (even though Hagrid had said that they were quite rare, he happened to have one more, apparnetly, just lying around. That oaf.), disappearing into the depths of it, waiting for him to pull it out and use it for… whatever he was meant to be using it for.

The thing was, Ron didn't want to part with it; it was almost as if he couldn't. Somewhere in his mind, it reasoned with him that no, leaving it somewhere, abandoning it meant the end of everything, devastation, for him, for more, who many? He had no idea.

… he needed to tell his mind to shut up, he had gotten far too dramatic the last couple of hours.

Or maybe no dramatic enough — Ron shuddered during his explanation.

Ron and Luna sat as far as they could from the rest of civilization, huddled in mid-darkness in the farthest table at the Leaky Cauldron as there could be, and it still didn't seem far enough; shadows seemed to hand hands, fingers, curling and inching closer to where they were, invisible and hungry.

"Oh, I see," Luna said once Ron was finished, sitting back. "I can see why you'd be concerned, Ron —"

"Yes, thanks, Luna —"

"Over the crapple-snackles."

… the crapple-whatles?

"Pardon?" Ron said, eyebrow raised.

Luna glanced back at him. "The crapple-snackles, they've been known to steal away recently-made girlfriends —"

"Hermione didn't get taken away by some crapple-snackles," Ron said, trying to suppress the blush he felt creeping up on him. "I checked Hermione's parents, and… they're gone, too."

Luna raised her eyebrows now. "Really?"

"Something happened to all the Grangers," Ron said, lowering his voice. "Something bad, and we've got to find out what."

Luna stayed silent, probably sensing that Ron was now yet finished.

"Will you help me?" Ron said, his jaw clenching. "Everyone else has things to do, and… I don't know, I feel as though I don't have a lot of time."

Luna didn't answer right away, staring at Ron for a longer time. During the seconds she didn't give an answer, Ron's throat was going dryer and dryer — what if she said no?

"Yes, Ron, of course, I'll help you," Luna said with finality.

Ron sighed with relief. "Thanks, Luna. What made you say yes, though? I mean, I know you probably have more things to do then —"

"You said my complimented me on my commentary back in our 6th year, remember?"

He'd never forget — Losers' Lurgy?

Ron smiled without asking questions. "Thanks, Luna. You really are the best. So, what are we going to do?"

Another creeping, slow smile. "Retrace their steps, of course."

* * *

"For gods sake — LET — ME — OUT!"

"Hermione, no!" said Hermione's mother, coming to grasp her shoulders, pulling her away from the infuriating jail bars. "That won't work, dear, you know it…"

Hermione wanted to shout that it would, that someone would eventually get sick of her voice and just come down and say "Okay, okay! Here's the keys, just stop saying things!" but that wouldn't happen, the logical part of Hermione's brain (most of it) told her so, and she backed away at her mother's command.

She was disgusted by this. She was useful against a pair of jail bars — was she a witch or what?

A door was pried open and slammed against the back of the wall, and Hermione jumped, along with her father and mother. Hermione clenched her wand tight, ready to do whatever was necessary.

Step. Step. Step. Step. The awful repetition of foot against stone stairway only encouraged Hermione to alert all her senses, all of them painfully, achingly alive in the event of what was to come next.

Just at the corner of the cell, was the profile of a man. His skin was fair, and he possessed a 5'o clock shadow, he wore a pure white shirt, followed with a pair of simple jeans. He didn't necessarily say wizard to Hermione, but still, she held fast to her wand.

"I'm sorry," was the only thing he said, his voice low and hard, like he wasn't used to utilizing it. "I really am, miss."

"What?" Hermione said, still entirely disgusted with her situation. "Ah, yes, well, if every single wrongdoing was put right with a sorry, then —"

"I can't let you go, miss," said the man, his voice now more… sorrowful than hard. "If it were up to me, I'd have you outta here and running to wherever you need to be, but I can't… not with it around."

It.

Not with _it_ around.

What was it?

Hermione melted away her hide of defense for a second, sensing that something else was at work. "What's wrong with this town? Why do you kidnap visitors? Why do you have these_ under everything?_"

The man remained quiet, moving away from the wall he'd been leaning on, and began to turn back the way he had come.

"Hold on," said Hermione's father. "I still need you to answer some of questions, what —"

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that," said the man, beginning his trail of steps.

Hermione waited, strained her ears to hear the resonance of every step until they became loud in her ears; the only sound, and when she heard the door open, she asked it. "Are you a wizard, sir?"

She could almost see the man turning back, and as he answered, his voice hit a pitch of sorrow that Hermione had never heard from anyone before, and the man said, "I used to be."

Then he shut the door hard, leaving Hermione and her family in another era of darkness.

* * *

Ron and Luna returned to the home Ron, Hermione, and Harry shared, ready to grab any last minute things. They didn't know how long it would take to find Hermione, or what that exactly entailed, and it was best to prepare for everything.

The moment they arrived, they heard a shuffling, and then Harry appeared by the door, his eyes open wide to them both.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Hermione's… she's never been gone _this_ long; she hasn't owled, she hasn't done anything."

"Come around, finally, have you?" Ron said bitterly. "Nicely done, she could very well be —"

Ron shut up immediately; what was wrong with him? He had… almost said the d word.

He passed Harry, stepping through to the living room, and double-took.

There was the remainder of Dumbledore's Army, the other Weasleys, Hagrid, Fleur and Bill, and even Kreacher, sitting very still, heads down, worry contorting their every muscle.

"And apparently," Harry said, coming through, "no one else has, either."

"Oh, good," said Seamus. "Are Victor and Grump going to show, too?"

George chuckled at this, and everyone was so surprised that Molly didn't even chastise.

"You all came…" Ron said, amazed and elated.

"Well," said Harry, "I owled Molly, who assembled the other members of your family. Ginny found Fleur and Bill, I got the rest of them to come, and I guess they all flew to answer me because I haven't been speaking to many people in a while…"

"As Rita Skeeter's section of the _Daily Prophet_ elaborates," said Luna.

"And I guess this is why I couldn't find Luna," Harry said with a smile in Luna's direction. "She was with you. And then I just called on Kreacher and —"

"Master wants to find the muggle-born, yes he does," said Kreacher, his tiny legs swinging from the ends of the couch.

"Oh, we're going by muggle-born now?" Ron said, still having a sour spot for the house-elf.

"And when I found out that Hermione's parents were nowhere to be seen," Harry continued, "I knew something was off, for real."

"Well, thanks for coming to your senses, mate," Ron said, and then addressing the crowd. "Okay, so Luna and I decided we're going to trace Hermione's steps. We don't need a lot of people for that… three will do, actually."

Ron looked to Harry, who nodded.

"Of course," Harry said, "when has three not worked for us?"

"Family," Ron said, "maybe you should look through Hermione's parents' stuff, maybe they would've gone somewhere, maybe Hermione would have taken them somewhere to spend time with them, any of that information is valuable, all right?"

George, Bill, Charlie, Arthur, and Molly all nodded, or came to some form of a yes.

"I'm awfully proud of you, Ron," Molly said, smiling weakly. She still looked so tired, her eyes reddened from her crying.

Ron warmed at that, as bittersweet as it was.

His family disapperated with a sharp, loud crack, and were gone.

"Fleur and Ginny, go through Hermione's things" Ron said. "Send us a message if you find anything that could tell us about her whereabouts; keep a close eye on the house for anything fishy."

"Got it," Ginny said, before rising, giving Harry a swift kiss (which Ron sharply looked away from — ugh.) and breezed off with Fleur to inspect the library and the bedroom.

There was no words to express how unenthusiastic Ron felt about his sister and his brother's wife going through his things, but it couldn't be helped, not now; they were wasting too much time. It was almost 8:30.

Ron dashed into the library, holding his hand out for the book he needed.

_Pride and Prejudice_.

He grabbed the flimsy paperback, placing the tip of his wand to it.

Then he put it back in its place, and crouched, where he placed the tip of his wand now to the floor, and said, "_Locus eius_,"

* * *

There were more concerns now, Hermione knew, and that was that _magic wasn't working_.

She'd tried blasting the bars, melting them, turning them to jelly, even, eh, seducing them ("Hermione, dear, what are you trying to do?") but nothing. They stayed still and metal and cold and unable to let her or her family through.

And it seemed all too connected to what the man had said. I used to be. What? Magic didn't just disappear, it was inherited, it was innate, it. . .

It was another half-hour before the door slammed open, to which Hermione jumped up. Her father and mother by her side, which somehow made her feel safer, despite their muggleness.

This time, after a series of steps — step, step, step, step — it was a woman. An older lady with a bucket, and she was crossing over to their cell when —

"Hey —"

The old woman screamed, flinging the bucket away and it slammed to the wall, water spilling and bucket clanking to the floor. The old woman saw them, wide-eyed.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to —"

"Oh no, not again, no!" the old woman cried, collapsing in a heap of sobs, her hands going to her face.

It took Hermione moments to soothe her, with soft "it's okay" and more "everything going to be fine" than she could muster.

Finally, finally, the old woman came to her senses, staring up.

"I'm sorry, I thought… oh, I thought he'd be able to go without any guilt, I thought…"

"What are you talking about?" Hermione said.

"My grandson, he…" the old woman trailed, "I'm sorry, dear, but you can never go home…"

"What? Why? Why are you keeping me here!"

"Because," the old woman said, looking up into Hermione's eyes. Her eyes were gray, perhaps they were once brown, or hazel, but those days had long passed, "it follows you when you leave. It goes where you go, and if you leave… you take it with you."


End file.
